


Culivation and Harvest

by Doxx



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cannibalism, Cooking, Dark, Future Character Death, Gore, Kidnapping, M/M, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxx/pseuds/Doxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is fascinated by Will, but even more intrigued of how the unique empath might *taste*, given proper rearing conditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culivation and Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Hannibalkink prompt:
> 
> "Hannibal is fattening Will up to devour when he deems the meat 'perfect'. his processes can be anything from making sure Will is eating regular meals, to gifting Will with soaps with essential oils to improve the flavour, to trying to improve Will's mental health, so that his meat is not tainted by stress and fearfulness."
> 
> No season 2 spoilers

Dr Lecter is nothing if not meticulous and careful, and as he finds himself increasingly involved in the working of the FIB he reluctantly decides to reduce the potential that they might stumble upon his hidden hobby. 

Which leaves him with a gnawing sensation at the back of his spine, craving the thrill of outsmarting the country’s best and brightest, of proudly displaying his superiority. Of turning crude and crass creatures into divine substance, transform them from something unpleasant to exquisite. Of having lawmen compliment him on the foodstuffs so taboo it would make lesser men queasy if they only knew the truth, even though the meat itself has been cooked to perfection. 

True, his larder is well stocked, and he can still indulge without risking detection, but even a fine fillet served with bright young greens, baby new potatoes and dark wine jus pales in comparison to the excitement of devouring a fresh kill.

It is as he shares his dwindling supply of liver and lung sausages with the fascinating Will Graham in efforts to divert himself, that a thought occurs to him. The man is straggly and skittish, like the mangy stray dogs he collects, entirely unsavoury; too much stress poisoning the flesh. It is a shame, as Hannibal knows that one day Will shall finally see through his mask, and call abrupt halt to their interesting meetings. Hannibal knows he will have to respond swiftly to silence Will, but it would be a pity to waste an otherwise fine bounty for lack of decent rearing conditions.

It is tempting to start a project featuring the wary empathy, set on improving and cultivating the flavour of his flesh till he becomes something special, to reflect upon his truly unique mind.

At the dinner table, Will either does not see Hannibal’s slow smile, or else chooses not to comment on it. Dr Lecter is grateful, for he is not sure what he would have replied when asked what has amused him so.

\-----

The simplest and quickest plan, would be to steal Will away and secret him far from where they might be found. A holiday home somewhere, under pretence of ‘getting away’ for a time. Trussed up tight, eyes wide with fear and disbelieve, Will would look lovely, and Hannibal could see the appeal in watching as Will’s terror became absolute. It would almost be worth the devastating effect it’d have on the meat, all bitter and acrid.

The fear however, would not last, Will’s adrenal glands could not hope to keep up the rush of epinephrine, especially as Hannibal lingered nearby, desensitising him to the presence of knives. It might take days, weeks, but eventually, Will would not flinch as cold metal caressed his skin, so when it came time to plunge the blade in, Will would not realise until it was too late.

And with the time it took to get to that moment, Hannibal could set about remedying Will’s gaunt frame, feeding him grain and herbs and butter, much like a foie gras goose. He would give Will the choice, of either eating mouthful after mouthful himself, or a funnel forced between his lips and the mixture poured down his gullet. Will would resist at first, Hannibal had no doubt, but as the funnel repeatedly scratched and scraped his throat raw, he would see the sense in obeying, even as his stomach expanded past the realms of comfort. Stuffed to capacity, day after day, and his body struggling to process the sheer calories consumed, Will would fill out, fatty deposits thickening his epidermal layers, his organs expanding in reaction. Even though it might spoil all other forms of foie gras for him, Hannibal would delight in the anticipation of sampling his swollen liver, rich and silky smooth.

He would slowly roast flank, and rump, and belly, the fatty skin ensuring succulent and juicy meat, the crackling scored and seasoned and crisp and buttery. The cheeks, he would eat rare, whilst the fat of lesser areas such as shoulder and calf could be rendered and used for months afterwards.

The concerns of course, marred the appeal of such a crass methodology. To allow Will to be ‘free range’ as it were, would be out of the question, the predictable escape attempt both tiring and trying. He would have to secure Will to a stationary point, and thus have to clean up after his prize goose, a prospect he found distasteful. It would be likely that when not eating or being force-fed, Will would try every trick he could think of to save his skin, pleading and begging and bargaining, rendering the resulting dialogue between them tedious and worse, tainting the rather pleasant exchanges they had shared in the past.

Patience, it would seem, would be best practised to achieve the most desirable results. And Hannibal was nothing if not meticulous.

So it would seem that he would be wise to continue to cultivate the curious friendship growing between himself and Will Graham. Will’s inherent defensiveness would not make it easy, but Hannibal could easily orchestrate a series of events to isolate Will from Jack Crawford, and Dr Bloom, increasing his own role in the young man’s life. To prune down the merger social circles to a more manageable arrangement.

It would be a simple matter to create a new Ripper murder pointing in the direction of one of the many fools desperate to take credit for his work. He knew, from Crawford’s frequent complaints, that there were individuals that rang after every reported death, like clockwork, claiming that they were guilty of the act. So often dismissed as attention seeking loons, it would not be hard to set one on the path of incarceration, providing certain facts and if necessary, DNA samples of his victims deposited in his home. Hannibal had collected many over the years, stored in a private holding locker under a false name. Once collared, the hapless man would find himself blamed, and even if he were to change his mind, it would be too late, mounting evidence drowning out his pleas. The police would be delighted at finally catching the killer, and closing the case.

Only Will would disbelieve, would see that the man in the cell was not the man he had been hunting. He’d protest at closing the case, urge Jack to reconsider, to be wary that the Ripper was still loose. However, when no further bodies appeared, his fears would seem more and more paranoid, his denial more unfounded. Jack would start to doubt his precious little teacup, and call upon Will less often, till finally forsaking him altogether. Hannibal would then politely refuse calls to consult, both separating himself from the policeforce, whilst also being seen to side with Will.

It would only take a throwaway comment about Dr Bloom’s professional interest in Will to push him into a confrontation, where she would either confess the truth that she sometimes thought of him as a career-making case study, or lie and have Will see through it . Either way, Will would be furious, and cut off ties with the doctor himself, without further intervention required.

He’d likely stop giving lectures, withdraw from the policeforce entirely. Dr Lecter suspected that Will took part in crime investigations to his own detriment, because it at least gave him opportunity to prove he was on the side of good, catching the monsters, rather than becoming one. Stopping death, rather than revelling in it. As he lost the one thing that separated him from the murderous men he chased, Will would grow increasing distressed, and Hannibal would be there, to comfort and reassure.

Fabricated therapy sessions, detailing Will’s spiral into depression, would provide plausible reasoning for suicide when Will unsurprisingly went missing several months later. After all, Hannibal was nothing if not meticulous. 

In the meantime, Hannibal would see to it that Will ate regularly, providing hearty meals and fine wine for them both. He supposed he would have to pursue a more vegetarian diet if he was going to make the effort to rear Will to be as tasty as possible, as carnivores tended to have poorer meat, tough and overly gamey. Forsaking the delicious bite and chew of flesh was a sacrifice he would make however, for the chance to consume Will at his very finest.

Unfortunately, friendship had its limitations. Will would not tolerate physical contact beyond a brief handshake, and visually observing the curve of his belly, the thickness of his arms when shrouded in clothe would hardly be an accurate assessment of when best to harvest.

To ensure he took Will at the pinnacle of perfection, Hannibal would have to get closer.

He’d start with gifts, expensive body wash of the brands he himself enjoyed. Infused with essences of black pepper and juniper, he wondered if he’d be able to taste the oils soaked into Will’s skin. He dearly hoped so, feeling that the warming spice would complement Will’s own masculine scent.

Embarrassed at first at the presents, Will might refuse, but Hannibal could be very persuasive. He would grace Will with a smile of recognition every time he detected the lingering smell of spice on his skin, encouraging. He’d suggest hot soaks in the bath to relieve stress, describing the soothing water seductively, making Will want to bathe. And when he sank into the water, surrounded by the perfume of the gifts, he would think of Hannibal.

Sex was no mystery to Dr Lecter, he knew the workings, and had experienced the electric tingle of joining two bodies together, skin to skin, the scent of sweat and sex in the air, a flood of chemicals in his brain. Pleasant enough, but unlike the ugly animals that habituated bars and nightclubs, he could easily restrain himself to reach a greater goal. 

Carefully crafted meals would be his next gift, fresh salad leaves and lightly sautéed vegetables hiding the increasing amounts of butter hidden in dressings and sauces, so that Will’s ribs would be less pronounced, his skin less sallow. 

Compliments on him looking so healthy, coupled with a smile warm which would be entirely genuine, in appreciation of the fruits of his labour.

It would take time, and Hannibal would be patient, as Will gradually became acclimatised to his glances that lasted a beat too long, the way he would pause for a moment when near, a gentle hand on arm or shoulder to guide Will through a doorway. Other people found Will’s gift a source of unease, but Hannibal would not hesitate to show affection and trust, just as he did not shy away from the darker statements Will made during their discussions. Rather than rush, he would let Will make the first move, to embrace someone who would not push him away.

He imagined kissing Will would be heady, and he would have to remind himself to not hungrily consume him there and then. Tentative, almost fearful, those first touches of tongue against tongue, fleeting across his tastebuds, serving as perfect appetiser for what was to come.

In Japan, there was a fine cut of beef, known as Kobe beef. From a select breed of cow, and specially raised on a diet that included beer mash, the finishing touch to this farming process was that the cattle would be massaged daily to improve the marbling of the meat. Hannibal had tasted Kobe beef when visiting New York, after first verifying that the meat was genuine rather than a poorer quality imitation, and had been impressed at the succulence and texture.

Will held his stress and tension in his shoulders, Lecter could see it in the way the man hunched, as if trying to hide from view. Reoccurring massage, across the back and shoulders, would ease the tightness, as well and break down any barriers against touch Will might have, but the main effect, would be to distribute the fat through the muscles, making the meat supremely tender and flavoursome.

He would use a bergamot oil blend, its herbal fragrance light without being floral and cloying. Skin against skin, he’d work the oil into the knots of Will’s back, over time allowing his hands to stray lower and lower till they at last caressed the tender flesh of his rear. To grasp the flesh, hold it, mould it, before it was served on a plate was an opportunity Hannibal would treasure.

From then it would be a matter of time before their encounters became carnal. This too, Hannibal would take time to properly appreciate, and he would enjoy seeing Will naked, Hannibal’s influence etched into his cells, the plumpness and perfume wafting from his pores all planned and perfect. He would touch, he’d hardly be able to resist, caressing his design, tracing the choice cuts under guise of affection. 

His hand would slip lower down the torso, though neither of them would think it by accident, and he would use his keen eye to observe the techniques and touches that caused Will to squirm, and where he had to brush, or lick, or nibble to hear his soft voice.

He'd explore every inch, savour every stolen taste, till Will begged him for something more. Then he would smile, and chide his partner for his impatience, and continue his worship of his work. 

The first touch of fingertips inside Will would be slow, delicate, tantalisingly stroking slick against smooth walls. Strange, perhaps, that he'd be so careful, but like all his endeavours, he'd mastered control over his urges. He'd not hurry and miss the sounds of Will coming apart by his hand. He'd not even bite, save for playful nibbles that left no mark, for fear of tripping Will's realisation of who (and what) he was. He did not want to damage his prize, or cause undue hurt or distress, not when he had Will so pliant and so very close to excellence.

He imagined Will would writhe beautifully in desperation, awkwardness abandoned in the throes of sensation.

He would slip behind, lining up the relevant body parts and then, allow himself to be engulfed by the heat and tightness of Will’s body. The push and pull would rock Will on his knees, would Will push back? Hannibal liked to think that with a guiding hand upon his hip he might, the painstakingly nourished relationship granting Will some confidence in himself.

With a hand curled round Will’s hardness (and Hannibal would ensure it was hard), he’d start to bring Will to climax, all the while buried in him like a dark secret.

As Will cried out his release, Hannibal would pound faster, tenderizing and claiming him, inside and out.

He would sit with Will as he lay upon the bed, sated and content, and as a gesture of fondness and thanks would massage his hands with oil soaked through with a topical analgesic. He supposed he could drug Will into a sleep from which he would not wake, but it would be wicked to waste his work by staining the flesh with the tang of chemicals. No, far better to work an analgesic into the skin of his hands, the tendons and bone inedible, and preserve the rest of his bounty. Will would not feel the bite of the blade as it slit his wrist, the skin numbed, the light-headedness easily attributed to post-orgasmic haze. 

The blood loss would soon cause him to fall unconscious, drifting off without care in the world, his mind at ease at least, his flesh relaxed. Collected under the bed his blood would make fine black pudding, Hannibal reluctant to waste any of this most precious meal, so carefully cultivated.

He would eat well, pate of organs and sloe gin on fresh breads, tender cuts of steak on a bed of mushrooms and white wine. Salads seasoned with slivers of tongue, liver and caramelised onions. Braised heart cooked for hours in shallots and garlic, served with a ruby Shiraz. Hannibal’s mouth watered at the possibilities and delights in store for him.

It might take months, perhaps even years, but the result would be the experience of a lifetime, and the doctor looked forwards to reaping the rewards of his little cultivation project. After all, Hannibal was nothing, if not meticulous.


End file.
